Echoes of Orpheus
by kim-onka
Summary: Are you Orpheus, Makalaurë Feänárion? / Written for Tolkien Secret Santa 2018.


There is a story of old, a story told by the Secondborn – have you heard it, Makalaurë Feänárion?

A story of a musician whose song and play enchanted all that lived, whose voice could move the very stones of the earth to tears. A story of an artist known above all for his gift – and for his loss, for both were great. One accompanied him from the start, the other haunted his footsteps and reached him with time. One brought him the love of many, the other tore his love away from him, once and again. One entwined with the other when he was granted a chance to save that which was most precious to him, and lost it again by his own doing.

A story of one who looked back.

Are you Orpheus, Makalaurë Feänárion?

They say Orpheus lived in close proximity with the gods, and the gods looked upon him with favour. They say he sailed with heroes to win an exceptional treasure, and the beauty of his song drowned out the enchanting dangers they faced… but you were not singing when the swanships rode across the waves, were you? Would your song have soothed the wrath of the Lady of the Sea?

(Do not look back.)

They say Orpheus wedded a maiden wise and beautiful, and their days were blissful, but for a short while only – the loss of bliss, the darkening of bright days, do you not know it? Where is your Eurydice, your young love, Makalaurë, where is she? Does she walk the shadowy Halls, or does she wander under the unforgiving Sun in the realms of your youth, now removed from the world? Does she listen for the sound of your lute across the Sundering Sea?

(Do not look back.)

They say Orpheus braved the realm of the dead and sang a song which softened the hearts of its rulers – but this not your story, Makalaurë Feänárion. The song which resounded in the Halls and moved the Doomsman to pity was not yours, the lyrical plea which won back love and light into the world did not come from your lips, but Lúthien's. This is her story, the story which echoes your failures. You never walked into the darkest abodes for one you loved, you never called upon those in whose dominions you had once played for help, you never accomplished what you had sworn, and she did. Lúthien is Orpheus victorious, walking in light of day with her love, if only for a short time; you are Orpheus defeated, wandering the shadows for all eternity, a shadow among many.

(Do not look back.)

But then, some say it was not Eurydice who dissipated into nothingness the moment Orpheus stepped into sunlight and looked back at her; some say it was a mere shade in her likeness, a mockery sent by the gods who scorned the singer's weakness – for if he loved her, he should have joined her in death, instead of challenging the laws of the gods. This story of Orpheus deceived, his love irrevocably dead, his love turned against him by a cruel being – is this what cowards get? This is the story of Gorlim and Eilinel, you know, but even he – even Gorlim was joined with his wife in death, in the end. But what about you? If you look back, will it be apparitions that evaporate?

(Do not look back.)

And if it is only phantoms that will dissolve into the air when you look – were they ever anything else? Were you ever true, or are you Orpheus undeserving, refusing to see that your chances have long vanished?

Your losses are plenty, yet your gift shines the brighter for it; oh, to call all the shadows before you with a song, to watch them melt into nothingness in the light of the Moon as stones weep – and they weep, but naught is changed.

(Do not look back.)

You tame the children like wild animals, you soothe them with song and lull the suspicion in their eyes with soft tunes. You tell yourself it is for the best, your intentions are true, although you are not certain yourself. When you send them away, you tell them never to look back.

(Do not look back.)

Some say that, upon seeing his Eurydice fade back into the shadows, Orpheus took his life to unite with her in death. That is not you; you are not Orpheus who relents in hopes of regaining what he lost, nor are you Orpheus who throws himself at the ultimate mercy in the desperation of grief. That is your brother, perhaps; or perhaps he is someone different still, perhaps he never even perceived the opportunity, never had the hope. You will never fully know.

Some say that Orpheus was torn to pieces for turning away from the god he had once honoured; they further say that a river slid underground in refusal to wash his murderers' hands. That is not you, either; you are let go for all your crimes, and it is your hands that are stained in more ways than one, more permanently than any water may wash away.

So what are you, Makalaurë Feänárion?

(Do not look back.)

You are Orpheus defeated, Orpheus who lost everything but his gift, Orpheus who looked back and himself faded into the shadows, so that only his song remains – that is you, Makalaurë Feänárion.

(Do not look back.)

In the end, you have always been looking back – and there never was anything to save.


End file.
